Grief Is Death's Hearbroken Lover
by TheLittleMermano
Summary: After Lovino's sudden death, the other nations are left in shock. Some more shocked than others. How? Why? Was it an accident? Why didn't he tell them he was fading as a country? Grieving, they all have their own wonders, regrets, and ways of dealing with his passing.
1. Prologue

Lighting another cigarette, and opening another bottle of wine, Lovino Vargas sat on his bed, mostly naked, eyes red, and head hurting.

It probably wouldn't have hurt as much if he wasn't on his second and a half bottle of wine, the half being the half empty bottle that he had dropped, causing it to shatter. It was oddly metaphorical, he thought. Something that was half empty that shattered. It reminded him of himself. Shattered being his relapse into alcohol and smoking, as well as his heart, and half empty being how he felt inside, to be totally honest.

Small, deep cuts were scattered on his hands and feet from the shattered bottle. They were on his feet because, well, thats what happens when you step on glass, and on his hands from his half-drunken half-blinded by tears attempt to pick them it up. And those cuts weren't going to be gone by tomorrow like they should be, oh no. They'd be there for awhile.

Last month he got a very small, very minor scratch from one of his Brother's cats. It was there for a week. It sounded like nothing, and to humans, it'd sound normal. But for countries? It meant you were dying.

Not dying, per se, but you might as well be. It meant you were losing your healing abilities; become mortal; becoming human. And humans died. This is what had happened to Prussia, too. First went the healing, then went the immortality, and then a few years later, the life. Prussia was dead. And he'd be with him soon enough. He was a dead country. There was only one Italy now, and it wasn't him.

He wondered why Prussia died first. Honestly, he had no idea why, and didn't want to linger on the subject for too long. He wondered if anyone else knew he was dying, or how he would even tell anyone. Should he even tell anyone? Feliciano wouldn't forgive himself. he'd be heartbroken. Antonio would have a breakdown, probably. He loved him, and he knew it, although he'd deny returning those feelings. Mostly because of his current situation. How sucky would it be if you found out the unrequited love of your life turned out to actually love you back, and then went off and died when you thought they were immortal? He couldn't do that to Antonio.

He was an idiot. He never said anything earlier. Never spoke of his feelings for Antonio or anything else he should have done, really. The list was endless and it was pointless to let himself down by thinking of each individual thing. And if he told them he was dying, no one would treat him the same. They would cry every time they saw him, pay too much attention to him, and really, it just made the grieving process longer. People would start grieving before he was even dead, and he didn't want that for them, or himself.

He closed his eyes and let the still-lit cigarette fall onto the bed next to him, but gripped the wine tightly in his hand. "Please, god, just let me die here. so i don't want to torture anyone with the fact that i'm about to die. Just let them find my body, they'll put it together."


	2. Chapter 1

"Feli, do you think it was an accident?" The Spaniards voice was quiet and shaky, just as it had been the last few days. He stirred his coffee, his eyes glued to the spoon in his hand.

"Of course. He would never..." Feliciano trailed off. It was useless to finish the sentence, Antonio knew what he was thinking, and vice versa.

It had been three days since that Feliciano received a call that his Brother's house had caught fire, and Lovino was dead. He shouldn't have been dead, he was a country. A healthy one, at that. It was always a shock when a country died–Especially if that death didn't take place during a war. The same shock had came over all the nations when Prussia had died. Now Feliciano knew how Ludwig felt, and it was a horrible feeling. Being with someone for centuries, and then all of the sudden, they're gone forever. And when that person is your brother...

"He would," Antonio objected. "He really would, Feli. If he knew he was becoming a human.."

It was a terrible thought that Lovino may have committed suicide. It was entirely possible, though, and thats what terrified them. Residue of cigarettes had been found. And Lovino had given up smoking months ago, and he had cut down on drinking. But the bottles laying around his room said otherwise.

"I really don't think so, Antonio. Why would he? He didn't have a reason. Sure... He was becoming a human–or, well, since he's..." He couldn't bring himself to say 'dead' yet, so he opted to just skip that word. "He was probably already human. But he had you and I, and his other friends... He had people who loved him." Feliciano spoke softly.

"People who commit suicide often have many people who love them," He started. He put his spoon down and took a sip of his coffee. "He has so many people who love him. And he knew that. But imagine if you turned human all of the sudden, Would you not panic? I can't blame him, honestly, but he shouldn't have done that." Antonio let his coffee mug linger at his lips for a moment before sighing and setting it down once more. All of this was taking a toll on him. The thoughts of what was going through Lovino's head that night, The worries about Feliciano, the worries about himself... And most of all, the fact that Lovino was gone. They never even had a chance. He never even had a chance. Did Lovino love him? He'd never know.

"We don't know if he even did it. Its possible it was an accident. You know that, Antonio..." Feliciano exhaled heavily. "You need to get some rest. He wouldn't have wanted you to do this... To stress yourself out like this."

Antonio had been staying with Feliciano since Lovino died, mostly to give each emotional support. Without each other right now, both of them would probably have complete breakdowns. Especially Antonio, who was more prone to drink impossible amounts of alcohol when grieving.

"I can't sleep. And please, for the love of god, stop using past tense so much. Saying things like 'He had people who loved him' makes it sound as if we don't love him anymore even though he isn't with us. I love him with all my heart." Antonio's voice was smaller and shakier as he said this, as if he was about to start crying. Which he was.

"...He loved you too. Just so you know."

"Did he ever tell you that or is it an assumption? Its not easy to make assumptions about Lovino."

"He... He didn't tell me. But–"

"No buts. It doesn't matter." It really didn't, now that Antonio thought about him. Not knowing for sure was for the better, honestly. Because if Lovino really did love him, even more regret would consume him, along with heartbreak. Not to say that his heart wasn't already broken, though.

Antonio stood up and walked to the guest room where he was staying without a word. He didn't want Feliciano to try to make him believe that Lovino loved him. He didn't want that conversation to take place. The large room was pretty empty, except for a queen sized bed, a lamp, and a nightstand. Antonio's suitcases sat in the corner of the room, along with a few wrinkled articles of clothes scattered on the floor near them. On the wall hung a picture of Feliciano, a picture of Piero; otherwise known as Seborga, and a picture of Lovino.

Antonio swallowed hard and stood in front of the picture. Despite him staying here for three days already, he hadn't paid the picture much attention. He didn't really want to. It wasn't just a picture of just Lovino. It was Lovino, hesitantly hugging Antonio–and smiling. This must've been one of the very few pictures of Lovi smiling; he rarely smiled genuinely, at least in public, and to get that on camera was like winning the lottery.

Tears rose to Antonio's eyes, and before he could stop himself he was sobbing. For the first time since Lovino's death, he broke. He snapped, letting every tear he'd wanted to shed go, small whines and whimpers escaping his lips as he cried.

He wanted him to come back.

He put his hand against the wall to brace himself, but whether from how hard he'd put his hand down, or whether he'd hit the side of the picture, it fell, glass shattering and falling around his feet.

He wanted to go with him.


End file.
